


Hold back and breathe

by Avidfangirlforlife



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:37:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avidfangirlforlife/pseuds/Avidfangirlforlife
Summary: The five time Patsy had to hold herself back, and the one time she didn't.





	

When it comes to Delia, Patsy has always found that holding herself back in certain circumstances exceptionally difficult. Until she had met the other woman, she had always prided herself upon her extremely high levels of self control. She'd always been proud of her stuff upper lip and good old fashioned British reserve. Coming from her background, it was always a good thing.

So it had come of somewhat of a surprise when she had been faced with the Welsh woman. Holding oneself back and quashing unwanted feelings and urges shouldn't be quite so hard. Never before had she had to fight against her feelings quite so much. Never before had she become so flustered by the mere presence of another person. Especially when such a thing shouldn't be happening.

She shouldn't be so drawn to the Welsh woman- for several reasons. The first, she was a woman. The second, she's supposed to be a consummate professional, a trainee nurse. The third, she should be able to stop herself. The fourth, she really should know better (after all, she is twenty one years of age, much too old to fall into such trappings). The fifth, a pretty girl shouldn't be able to turn her head quite so easily.

She forms a mental list, often in a mantra form, to remind her straying eyes that if she is caught, she is in for it. Her list doesn't seem to stand up well in the face of those big blue eyes, that dimpled smile (seemingly brighter than summer sunshine itself) and that lilting Welsh accent. She should know better, but she really doesn't seem to.

The first time she has to actively hold herself back from doing something hasty and possibly life ruining, it's a rather ordinary Thursday evening. Her father had always taught her that nothing remarkable should ever happen on a Thursday evening, because it seemed like rather bad form. Still, they're both off duty, drinking and laughing in Delia's bedroom.

It's not the first evening they've spent like this, and it certainly won't be the last. They're drinking scotch of some shape or form, a rather cheap concoction, and it tastes something foul. Still, it had been cheap and previously purchased, so they drink it. At one particular moment they are laughing, hysterical, tears streaming down their faces, when their shoulders brush.

Not for the first time of the evening, mind, but it's the first time Patsy really notices. It sends a jolt down her arm, leaves a tingling feeling in its wake. She stares down at it, noting all the while that it has suddenly become rather quiet. Neither of them are laughing, and when she looks up, Delia is staring at her.

It's a peculiar look, one she can't quite put her finger on. She looks at her, the world warm and slightly blurry through the alcohol, and realises that all she really wants is to kiss her. For a really long time. On the lips. She thinks she'd rather enjoy that. It wouldn't even take much, just leaning forward and tilting her head slightly.

Delia is still looking at her, and her eyes seem to glimmer with hope and -dare she think it- encouragement. The look at one another for a long minute, focused even through the haze of alcohol, and through it all Patsy's mind races in a slightly panicked frenzy. Footsteps pass by in the corridor, eye contact is broken, the spell shattered.

Patsy stands unsteadily, resolute in the fact that she is most definitely not swaying, and says goodnight. She slips into her own room, determined to forget it ever happened. She will not allow herself to hope where there is none, because she absolutely cannot have what she wants.

So if she takes a second to focus on the look in Delia's eyes, the way her head turned slightly to the side, no one needs to know. And if she dreams about what could have happened in the next few moments, had they not been interrupted, so sue her. She puts it from her mind during the day. And thanks her lucky stars that she has Delia in her life at all.

The first time she has to hold herself back, she is slightly drunk and very afraid. She is afraid of what she feels for another woman and she is afraid of what it means. She resolves to forget about the moment, and hope that such a problem resolves itself in due course.

The second time she has to hold herself back, where Delia is concerned, is rather different than the first time. It is true that they're still in training, they have miles and miles to go before they finish, but they're settled into the routine of it by this point. Her and Delia are practically inseparable, and Patsy can safely say that she has never had such a good friend before.

The relationship the two of them have is somewhat peculiar in its nature, to say the least. They skirt around feelings, find themselves far closer than is appropriate often and Patsy would be lying if she said the hadn't caught one another staring more than once. Most of it can be explained away easily. She's found that she is really very good at that.

Explaining away the little things. The accidental brushes of skin, the lingering eyes, the urge to always be close. She can tell herself that it is all purely platonic, that she just doesn't know what to expect because she's never really had a friend before. She's too cold and detached for such things. Friends hug for long periods of time and sit close together. Friends appreciate one another's clothing, especially when it is particularly complimenting to ones' figure.

There are some things though, bigger things, that she can't quite explain away. Like how she dreams of Delia, almost every night. Like how she constantly thinks about kissing her, and touching her. There are so many feelings within her, things she has never before experienced, and they are overwhelming to say the least.

One thing she has never before experienced occurs late one evening, when the two of them are out dancing. For once they had both found themselves with the same day off, and somehow Delia had convinced her to go out for the evening. It hadn't taken long after their arrival for Delia to be asked to dance. Not long at all.

She'd shrugged as she'd gotten up, sent a sorry smile Patsy's way, and then she'd been off. With some man. Dancing the night away whilst Patsy had sat at their table, a prize chump, feeling like a fool. Not one person had asked her to dance. Not a single one. So she'd taken to watching Delia dance, the one familiar face in a sea of strangers. She hadn't looked best amused, but there was very little Patsy had been able to do.

She escapes the clutches of one man and is soon ensnared by another. This one, Patsy notes, is a far better dancer than the last. He also seems to be far better looking. Tall and dark and handsome. Delia actually seems to be enjoying herself, seems comfortable and relaxed within the man's arms. Which is a good thing, obviously.

Patsy tries to ignore the way her skin prickles, the way she feels hot all over. She watches them dance, and tries to ignore the clawing feeling in her stomach as she watches Delia laugh at something he says. She tries to ignore the way her throat tightens when she sees how little space there is between the two of them. She tries to ignore the way her hands shake in her lap, because he can hold Delia in public, and she cannot.

She tries her utmost to ignore how utterly angry she becomes, because she has no right to be angry. None at all. Finally, after painstaking minutes of self flagellation, she finds herself outside of the establishment, smoking up against the wall. She calms herself somewhat, deep breaths and out of sight out of mind.

That's where Delia finds her, some time later. On her fourth cigarette of the past forty minutes, trying to convince herself that everything is fine. When she sees Delia, the clawing feeling in her stomach doesn't diminish. Delia comments on how wonderful the night has been, oblivious to Patsy's mood, and Patsy's mind screams at her to correct the Welsh woman.

She wants to storm and blaze and be angry, although she has no right. Although she really isn't very sure why. It's jealousy, she realises, even as she tries to swallow it down. She attempts a smile, makes herself agree with Delia warmly. She doesn't need to know how positively ghastly a time Patsy has had tonight. Doesn't need to know that something in Patsy is stirring for the first time. Doesn't need to know that she wants Delia more in this moment than she ever has before.

What she doesn't know doesn't hurt her. The second time Patsy holds herself back, it feels as though they are on the verge of something. It is something fragile that cannot be rushed into, no matter how reckless Patsy may feel like being. No matter how jealous watching Delia dance with another person may have made her. She holds herself back, even as something within her aches to push Delia against a wall in the nearest dark corner. To kiss her and touch her and help her to understand. She holds back because she will not let something so hopeful and new and barely dawning be ruined in such a way.

The third time Patsy has to hold herself back, it is on yet another unremarkable day. They are both nurses now, full trained and newly qualified. But that is not the only thing that has changed. Something new is blossoming between the two of them. Something unrecognisable and deep and frightening. Something disconcerting and exciting and barely containable. Something that she can't explain, even though she could see it happening.

It is an unremarkable evening in June, warm and bright and wonderful. Both of them had worked a gruelling shift on Male Surgical (a damned harrowing place at the best of times), full of yearning glances and painstakingly slow minutes ticking by. Still, it had passed and they were both free once again.

Patsy had waited at the end of her shift, so that they could walk home together. It's as they're detouring through the park, admiring the sunset, that she feels it. The park around them is deserted, quiet in the pre-twilight. She could reach out and intertwine hers and Delia's fingers, no questions asked.

She could hold her hand, cradle it between her own like something precious. She could take her hand, and run her thumb over each ridge of her knuckles. She could do it over and over again, make it a habit, a muscle memory gesture. She could bring their hands together in the space between their bodies, connect them physically in the way she knows they are connected.

She could hold her new loves' hand. Be brave and take an enormous step. She could learn what it feels like to walk through the evening summer air holding the hand of the woman she knows she loves. She could learn to think of the heat emanating from her palm as familiar. Learn each callus and line off by heart. Learn how well their fingers fit together, while they walk. Learn how to perform such an action absently, rather than having to pray for the courage.

She holds herself back though. Doesn't link their fingers, or grasp for Delia's hand with her own. She ignores how everything within her screams for her to do so, because what if somebody were to see? Such an action isn't all that innocent. Not in this day and age. So she holds herself back. She contents herself with letting their little fingers catch and hold for a second, just so. She can be brave, for Delia, but it will have to be in baby steps, rather than in leaps and bounds.

The fourth time Nurse Mount has to hold herself back, so does Delia. It is her last night in the Nurses' Home, her last night amongst her friends and colleagues. First thing in the morning, she is due at Nonnatus House. First thing in the morning, she must leave Delia and the shared space they have come to inhabit.

It's time for a change, and she knows that. Being a nurse on Male Surgical is slowly killing everything she loves about her profession. It is killing her passion for helping the ill. She hates how clinical and detached she has to be. She hates the doctors and Matron and how it feels like she is trapped. She hates the patients she works with. Men really are beasts.

She knows that one of them needs to leave, and soon. They've been spending far too much time together, drawing too much unwanted attention to themselves. If one of them doesn't move on from the blissful bubble they have made for themselves outside of work, they are bound to be caught. Sooner rather than later. Which would spell the end of their careers.

They would still have each other, but no nursing. That's not something she will let happen. Not when Delia loves the London quite so much. She could bear it, but she doesn't think Delia could. So she'll move on, and they'll see each other as often as possible, even if it means they will barely see each other at all. It means they will both have to work harder at making time, but somehow it will work out. She knows that.

Still, surrounded as they are by their friends and colleagues alike, she only has eyes for Delia. Or, more specifically, the heart break she can see in Delia's eyes. The amount of pain in her eyes makes Patsy feel as though she has been physically hurt. Delia seems to think this will be the end for them, but she won't let it be. They've found each other, she won't let that break. 

She desperately wants to go to Delia, to draw her into her arms, to kiss the haunted look away from her face. She longs to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, make promises she will fight to keep, reassure her that their love will endure until her voice is hoarse and she is blue in the face. She'd do it too, damn the consequences, if these people were perfect strangers and not their coworkers.

She holds herself back and contents herself with catching her loves' eye and directing a smile her way. She holds herself back even when it is not returned. She settles for letting the sleeping bear lie. Later, when the Nurses' Home is silent around her, she creeps across the hall to Delia's room and let's herself in. She's lying on her bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling. Patsy curls around her on the bed, and holds her, kisses away the tears when they fall and promises them both that they will be just fine ("just you wait and see Deels").

The fifth time Patsy has to hold herself back, it is December 1963 and the two of them have been in a well established relationship for quite some time. Things have changed drastically over the years, and yet the two of them had grown closer, if anything. They stick together, through thick and thin, just the way they always have.

One night they find themselves with same evening off, which happens to be a very rare occurrence nowadays. Delia decides that the two of them are going to head up West, for a night at the flicks. It's a rare treat and one they both greatly anticipate for weeks beforehand. Things start off smashingly, as they always do when it is just the two of them. In fact, everything is practically picture perfect until the tail end of the night.

Which is when, of course, Patsy notices that Delia has that mischievous look of hers in her eyes. It is a look that practically screams trouble, and it unnerves Patsy a rather large amount. Still, nothing happens, at least for a while. That is, until Patsy notices that Delia is smiling at someone over her shoulder. It's a smile full of invitation. Patsy finds herself annoyed, even though she knows Delia is trying to wind her up. 

And then said stranger feels it is perfectly acceptable to come and join them. A man, of all people. Whilst they are on a date. Delia smirks at her, before batting her eyelashes and laughing at whatever ridiculous thing the man has to say. Patsy knows she doesn't mean anything by it, she is simply aiming to get under her skin, but by god does it work.

Delia knows how to push her buttons, and right now she is pressing every single one of them. And holding them down. By nature, Patsy isn't a jealous person. Delia is her exception to that rule, she always has been. When it comes to Delia, she is down right envious. And rather possessive. Something within her snarls at the unattractive man, claws out and hackles raised. It's a warning, but he doesn't seem to notice.

The man leans over to place his hand over Delia's, and she stands abruptly to leave. She barely spares the time to grab her coat and bag, before striding out of the door like a woman on a mission. Delia catches up with her, half a street later, breathless and worried. Patsy can see the anxiety on her face, fearing she has pushed too far. 

She holds herself back, because she is less than five seconds away from actually pushing Delia in the nearest alleyway and proving why she doesn't need to flirt with other people. All the way back to Poplar, her mind is consumed with various scenarios. All the ways she could take Delia, show her how unnecessary flirting with others is, make her forget the rest of the world. She is consumed with thoughts of how she could narrow Delia's world to Delia and herself. She is consumed with the memories of how her name sounds gasped from Delia's lips in the throes of pleasure. She holds herself back even as she longs to touch her.

The bus ride back to Poplar has never seemed so long before, she's distracted beyond reason, so much so that she doesn't pay much heed to the worried look that still hasn't left Delia's face. The jealousy is still rearing its head deep within her chest, even though she knows that Delia is hers. Elaborate fantasies play inside her head, leaving her squirming on her seat.

Finally, after what feels like hours, they get off at their stop. She finds herself walking incredibly fast, desperate to reach the safety and privacy of their flat. Barely able to restrain herself from doing something that could be considered foolish, here among their friends and neighbours. Still, she just about makes it, with Delia hot on her heels, worried expression still rooted firmly on her face.

Later, Patsy knows that she will feel ghastly for making Delia worry so, but not now. The front door has barely closed behind them before she moves into action. In seconds, before Delia can even begin to question what on earth is the matter Patsy has her pressed firmly to the door. She swallows Delia's gasp of surprise with her mouth, her hands come to grasp at Delia's hair (down for their evening out).

Her body presses close to Delia, leaving no space between them, almost as if she is trying to make them become one. She kisses Delia with the sole aim of reminding her that they belong together, whether she flirts with a man in public in the way she cannot with Patsy. It is a possessive kiss, full of promise and need.

When they part for air, her mouth ghosts over Delia's jaw, down her neck. She pays particular attention to the spot, about three quarters of the way down, that never fails to make Delia gasp and keen against her. The spot that never fails to make her eyes flutter shut, her hands reach for Patsy, her name falls breathlessly from her lips, a plea that she can't ever concentrate enough to finish. Patsy can make her feel such things, knows Delia's body better than she knows her own, knows Delia's body better than any one else ever will.

With Patsy's lips at her neck, Delia starts to squirm against the door, sandwiched as she is between it and Patsy. Her breath comes quickly, chest heaving against Patsy's own, with each breath she can feel their closeness. Chest to chest. Just as Delia begins to lose the last thread of her focus, Patsy moves back ever so slightly.

Her lipstick is smudged over the bottom half of her face, her lips swollen, but she's beautiful. There is something about Delia, pressed against the door and helpless to her own wants, that steals the air from her lungs. The way Delia is looking at her, all need and love and endless longing, drives her to distraction.

She presses herself against forward, needing to be close to Delia, to feel her, to touch her. Every sordid fantasy that had crossed her mind earlier in the evening has fled, replaced by reality. Delia is warm and pliable and wanting beneath her fingertips, far better than any figment of her imagination could ever be.

Her mouth finds its way to Delia's ear, whispering words of love and need and endless longing. She tells her all of the things she would once never have dared to say, but loving this woman for so long has made her bold. Delia's eyes flutter closed as she listens to Patsy's voice, lost in the nuances with the other woman as her only anchor. Patsy's words become more heated, words that once would have made the pair of them blush like school girls, but not any more.

By the time she stops talking, both of them are breathless and flushed. Not from embarrassment, because what is there to be embarrassed about? They're both flushed and breathing hard, simply because they need one another so badly. Patsy takes Delia's hand and leads them through to he bedroom.

This time, she doesn't hold herself back. She lets herself love and be loved, in the privacy of their own home. She lets herself touch and map and worship without reserve, in a way that is familiar to her now. She lets herself forget the world outside of Delia. Delia's hands on her thighs, Delia's tongue mapping her body, the noises Delia makes when she touches her in return. She doesn't hold herself back, lets herself make love to her girlfriend. 

She wonders if the seemingly endless waiting, all the angst and uncertainty, was worth it. Was worth what they have. It is, she realises, much later when they are curled around one another. It was worth all the waiting and the holding back and she'd do it all again in less than a heartbeat, if it meant having Delia by her side now.


End file.
